


Storm Blind

by DeepDisiresLonging



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Cottage Au, F/M, Fluff, Panic Attacks, ambulance triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepDisiresLonging/pseuds/DeepDisiresLonging
Summary: The Reader moves into a new town and refuses to become twitterpated by her handsome neighbour. Then a storm literally crashes through the world she knows and she finds herself open like never before.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 35





	Storm Blind

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a dizzy/vertigo haze, so if there’s weird spots that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Feedback would be great, especially with this fic since it’s the longest one I’ve written since hitting my writing slump. Comments, kudos, and keyboard smashes are all appreciated. Enjoy!

There are over one hundred moments a day when we are blind. It’s when you put on a shirt and can’t see anything for the cloth. When the sun shines through your windshield and the road is nothing but light. Or when you’re turning so fast the world is only a blur. We are blind. And vulnerable. 

There is another kind of blindness. It creeps in. Slow. Unseen until it grips your heart and suddenly you can’t breathe. The word around you fades and all you can see is what did this to you. 

You didn’t know any of this when you moved into town.

It was a quaint little place. There was a main street uncrushed by superstores like Walmart or Kroger. All family run as they had been for generations. Moving up the hills in the valley, jutting out of the trees like children in a field, were small houses just big enough for families. Or for one. 

You stood in front of your new house with a smile. Your uncle had picked it out, paid for it, and made sure all bills would be sent to him. The past six months had… well. They were too painful to explain. This is what you needed. A small town. Small questions. A place to write. A place to recover. You looked up it’s Queen Anne facade. The curves and wide windows welcomed you, and the pale green paint with white borders was the house’s smile. 

Inside had been decorated to your eccentric liking. Vibrant colours changed room to room while working well with one another. Deep blue with golden stars, pale red to match your red embroidered couch, and more green to match your emerald green velvet reading chair. Gold embellished the moulding, rainbow crystals hung from curtain rods, and detailed Turkish rugs covered the dark hardwood floors. Home. You set down your last bags in the kitchen and continued to your back porch through the double glass doors. 

Finally, a garden. 

Through the roses, lavender, and hydrangeas, you could see your neighbours. On the south side lived the little old lady who was prepared with a fresh blueberry pie before you even moved in. She gave you a gentle wave and motioned for you to come over. In the house on your north, a man appearing only a few years older than you sent you a friendly dip of his head. You bit back certain thoughts about how handsome he looked with those few escaped locks framing his face.

“Good morning, dear.” 

“Good morning, Ms Dot. How’s the garden today?”

She smiled, her face wrinkling like crepe paper. “It’s wonderful as always, dear. Though still rough on my knees,” she ended with a chuckle. A twinkle shone in her eye. “All moved in? Maybe now you can come over for your official ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ dinner. Ah, ah.” She held up her hand to stop your protests. “Stop that. You just moved in. I know for a fact there’s nothing in your kitchen. It’s won’t be anything fancy. I’ve made pie for dessert, of course. Mr Barnes from your other side is bringing some steaks he’s been wanting to cook up-”

“Mr Barnes is coming?” Hastily you distracted from your breathy voice by brushing your hair out of your face. 

“Yes. The Marrows were going to come too, but their littlest has a show tonight and they couldn’t make it. Then again, I figured you’d like something more intimate. You’re a quiet soul, I can tell.” She smiled brightly. 

Anyone would see quiet when compared to Ms Dot. 

You gave her hand a squeeze over the fence. “Thank you so much. I’ll be there.”

Ms Dot peeked around you to the other backyard. Following her gaze, you noticed it was empty. She sighed. “Dinner’s at six. Don’t be late. It’s not that far a walk. But if you are, I’ll sic Toby on you.” She waggled her fingers at you with a laugh. Before taking her gardening tools inside, she gave Toby, her Scottish terrier, a loving pat on his head. 

***

Time rushed all too soon. 

There was so much to do. Unpack your clothes, your books, your dishes. Get distracted by the books and leave the dishes for tomorrow. Scurry to find your box of shoes. Set up your writing desk; you weren’t going to miss another morning without putting pen to paper. By the time you rolled around to fixing your hair, the sky was a darker shade of blue and it was five minutes to dinner. 

A knock at your door nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

“Mr Barnes. Um, hi.” You hugged close to your door frame. “Here to make sure I make it to dinner on time?”

He curled his brown hair over his ear and laughed. “Yes, actually. Ms Dot may be late to town functions and invitations, but don’t you dare be late to her stuff. She’ll trade blueberries for her blackberries in your next pie.” He leaned in close and whispered, “they’re always sour.”

You took the arm offered you… and then noticed his bare feet. “Um, Mr Barnes?”

“You’ll see when we get there. And, please, drop the Mr. You can call me Bucky if you’d like.”

With that tip, you skipped your own shows and followed him to her garden gate. During your own afternoon flurry, you had missed whatever help had set up the table and chairs, candlesticks and bouquet included. Immediately dinner was underway. Bucky’s steaks, fresh potatoes and wild carrots, and a small salad also homegrown filled your plate. And kept filling it as Ms Dot scooped large seconds to your small firsts. 

Ms Dot stood as her house phone rang. “Oh, that’s probably Alice. Been meaning to call her for a month. You too enjoy dinner, don’t wait up. We’ll talk the moon down.” 

The garden breathed a silent breeze. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, um. What brings you to our small town? People don’t usually move here unless they’ve got family ties or something.”

“Nothing like that. I… City life disagreed with me. It was always too loud, too fast. Not enough green. And then-” You took a sip from your glass. “City life disagreed with me. This was the furthest place I could find.”

Thankfully he let the subject go. Instead, he drew you into drifting topics between literature, movies, music, singing to your plants versus talking to them, which flowers to grow, which vegetables to banish from the garden. The stars were dancing above long before the candles threatened to sputter out. 

“I think Ms Dot abandoned us.” Looking up to the house, there wasn’t a single light on anywhere. 

Bucky shook his head. “Ms Dot. Um, here. We can put the plates in the sink she has by the back door. She’ll get them in the morning.” Between the clattering plates and cutlery, he stole glances at you. “I really enjoyed talking to you. If you wanted, I was going to sell some things at the market tomorrow. It won’t take long, and then I could show you around.”

He was looking at you with those eyes. You wanted to fall into them and never come back out. No. Can’t do that. Sirens. Red and blue, spinning. No. Not this time. 

“That would be lovely, but I’ve got a mountain of boxes to unpack. Maybe when my place is in order?”

***

He did not come over when all the boxes were unpacked. Or when your fridge was finally stocked. Or even when you were both home. 

In town, you ignored him. Even though he had a funny way of appearing when you’d least expect him. Apparently, nobody had a permanent farmer’s market booths. They changed every week, so you were never prepared to see his smiling face from behind a pile of produce. You’d give him a quick hello and then hurry on. People were beginning to notice. They started to talk behind their hands when you walked by. 

You weren’t bothered by them. What did get was how easily you slipped into your headspace. Familiar paths rutted deeper in your mind. You were blind to the spring around you. The sweet calm of the town. Even the delicious smells from the shops… until Bucky walked into view. Then life was blinding. Breathtaking. 

Too loud. 

Bucky frowned every time he saw you tense. Could he see how your emotions overran you? Did he know the grip fear had on your lungs every time he saved you from the past? If anything happened to him, he wouldn’t be able to save you. Better to stay distant so you didn’t ruin what little you had. 

You never saw the way his hands twitched to reach after your retreating form. With your head in the clouds, you never saw the soft smile he wore unknowingly when you walked through the market. It always broke into something bigger when you stepped up to his booth. He worried that he looked like Mr Marrow’s donkey showing his teeth when he smiled like that. But he couldn’t stop. 

Did you know that his that thought before sleep was about you? Were you okay? Did you feel lonely? Was your writing going well? He could see you writing at your window by the early light when he went for his run. Would you ever let him read those words? Would you ever let him see your mind?

***

The only bad thing about not living in the city?

No tall buildings to defend you against tornados. 

Sirens. The room was spinning. Underneath you, the floor rushed up to your face. The wood, nailed to the floor, held you up like a raft. And the sirens kept getting louder and louder. The wind shrieked. Outside, the sky turned a sickly green. Memories and now mixed indiscriminately. 

Taking a first apartment so close to the hospital was probably a bad idea. So many lives were driven under your window. You could feel them. Their breath. Their lack of pulse. Tears on their mothers and husbands and children’s’ faces wet your cheeks. The danger of a lonely city life petrified you. Who would cry for you? Your uncle came as soon as he could at your call. Two hours after hanging up, he found you curled into a ball on the kitchen floor while an army of ambulances fled an apartment fire down the street. All that red. All the blue. White ash. Black funeral cars the next morning when you finally got off the floor. 

“Y/N, please. You have to get up.”

“I can’t. There’s too many of them. They’re too loud. Too loud,” you sobbed. 

Bucky’s face appeared in front of you. “I know.” His brow was creased deeper than Ms Dot’s wrinkles. “But we have to go. The tree on the sidewalk crashed through your fence. Two more feet and you wouldn’t have a front window. It’s going to get worse.” He gritted his teeth through another siren spin. “But I can’t carry you. Y/N, please. You have to get up.”

For the first time in what felt like hours, you were not in your apartment, but your house. This was Bucky, not your uncle. This was the weather, not a man-made disaster. You could walk. 

You both hid in your tiny pantry, wrapped together tighter than vines. You woke up the next morning before you realized the storm was over. The gardens were a wreck, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with some twine, sticks, and time. Ms Dot was rattled, but she’d been living here her whole life and was well prepared. Bucky was right. A few more feet, and the sidewalk tree would have crashed through your porch, front door, or into your front parlour.

It only took a few days to return things back to mostly normal.

It only took a few days to find yourself laying next to Bucky on your couch while he read aloud. Cheekily, you climbed further into his lap like a child. The coldness you’d shown him had evaporated like the tornado. He had listened to it all, all your fear, and still wanted to be near you. He welcomed it. 

“Y/N, it’s hard to read if I can’t see the pages over your head.”

“Cuddle me so I can wiggle my butt and give you a boner.”

“Ms Y/L/N,” he gasped, “what would Ms Dot say?”

You giggled. “She’d probably say, ‘get on with it!’ I think she’s been trying to get us together since I moved in.”

“She’s a saint. Nosey. But good.” He closed the book and set it on the side table. “May I confess something?”

“Maybe.”

“It was my idea to give you the ‘welcome’ dinner. I wanted to host it, but Ms Dot claimed her garden was prettier. Which it is, and she saw through my reasoning. She set up that call with Alice the day before the dinner.” 

You laughed and snuggled into his chest. “Well, I’m glad she did. It would have taken me months to get to know you like I did that night.”

He smiled against the top of your head, placing a soft kiss there. The first of many. 

It was then you realized how much you loved him. It had sneaked up on you, hidden behind your fear. Fear is a liar. You can be loved. Danger may be around every corner, yes. But that can’t stop the glow in your chest all the time. Now that you had him, the breathless wonder you held for destiny relaxed away. You took a deep breath...

And wiggled your butt across his crotch. 


End file.
